


Dean and the Blade

by fannishliss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Blade, Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1669547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and the Blade are one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean and the Blade

**title: Dean and the Blade**  
author: [](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/)**fannishliss**  
rating: like the show so PG13 I guess  
pairings: there is a hint of Dean/Benny; more like Dean/Blade  
warnings: Dark. Dean is Not Doing So Good in this fic; also this is Poetry; I always warn for a Poem  
spoilers: S9 brought us here, this is where we are now, slight spoiler for penultimate ep

Summary: Dean and the Blade are one.

=============

The world is made of crystal.  
Not the diamond kind  
you'd see in some swanky chandelier.  
A black and bloody kind,  
where everything sparkles  
ruby, garnet, jet, obsidian...

In Purgatory he'd cut his right hand  
bloody time after time, wielding the obsidian  
shard he'd flaked sharp, until he lashed  
it to a femur with that same femur's hamstring.

In Purgatory, the world was clear --  
all crisp edges -- Benny's teeth sharp  
against the back of his neck when Dean  
gave it up,

the ache  
of that embrace  
so  
very  
worth  
the bruises,

so few drops of blood  
traded  
to be held by a brother

. . .

Dean's fury drags Purgatory into this world --

the cleanliness of rage,  
where every destruction is oh so deserved.  
 Where revenge is his only purpose.  
  Where Kevin's death is taken out in a bright blue glow  
that should be searing Dean's own eyes black and hollow

but it doesn't

because Dean

was born and bred

for this:

No pain  
No weakness  
No fear  
No regret

Only RAGE  
rippling through his body,

unholy ecstasy,

No room left for strategy or some abstraction like

justice  
or hope.  No  
decency, morality, love

Only the reality of life-force  
singing into Dean  
through the blade  
the ancient gore-stained jawbone of an ass.

Dean is  
the blade.

And they are thirsty, so thirsty for more.


End file.
